


Now What? - Hiro x Depressed! Reader

by ijudgelove



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Cutting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fights, Help, Loneliness, Love, Muteness, Pain, Romance, Sad, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suffering, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Teen Romance, Therapy, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijudgelove/pseuds/ijudgelove
Summary: Depression isn't a cool, edgy character trait that makes you shy and cutely mysterious. It's a chronic mental illness that comes out of nowhere, makes you afraid and leaves you sobbing in a ball of misery for no apparent reason. What's the best way to distract yourself from this unreasonable sadness? Self harm. Or, at least, that's what YOU imagine is the best way. Your friend, Hiro, on the other hand, strongly disagrees. In fact, he's so determined to find a better way to relieve your stress and help you get better, that he won't leave your side until he's sure you're alright... even then, he might have a hard time leaving you alone. But until then, he's going to stick this depression thing out with you, one step at a time.





	1. Whoops

**Author's Note:**

> I started this work a while ago... so, naturally, the beginning is going to sound as if it was written by a fourteen-year-old. Because it was. Also, in this story, Hiro is seventeen years old. Enjoy!

    *** **WARNING: May trigger suicidal thoughts, actions, self harm, and/or depression. There is also a heavy amount of blood mentioned in this, so if you're a bit squeamish to that, I suggest you do NOT read this. If you believe that you can handle this, read at your own risk. I didn't mark this as mature because there are no lemons, but I wanted to let the viewer know that it is a bit dark. Also, there is a heavy amount of swearing. Thank you! *****  
  
  
  
  
    You were lying on your bed, your body tossed like a rag doll across the sheets. You weren't tired, although you should be, with your small alarm clock reading the early hour of 3:54. Your room was a mess of clothes, books, crumpled up college-ruled paper, and tissues, making you feel sick with dread. You didn't want to do anything, or there wasn't anything to do.  
  
    You sat up clumsily and stared at the dark ceiling. School was in four hours. You would have to face people in four hours.  _Ugh._  
  
    Deciding to make use of what little time of night you had left, you crawled under the covers. Sleep was the backup plan for any situation. You looked at all the untouched, dusty bottles of Prozac and Zoloft; your parents never bothered to see if you were taking them, but they agreed to pay for the prescriptions after a series of doctor's notes diagnosed you with chronic depression and anxiety. You didn't like taking the medicine. It made you feel weak, and you didn't think that you deserved to be 'normal' again. You felt safe wallowing in your depression and self-degradation.  
  
    The roller coaster of your life was currently travelling in a straight line at ten miles per hour. There wasn't anything to throw up your hands and speed up for.  
  
    - - -  
  
    The long, torturous hours of school were finally over. You took a few classes at the SFIT college, each day getting weird looks about how you were 'too young to be attending.' You knew most of the subjects that were being taught, that or it was too easy to understand; and so you were bored with each school day. It was nothing but pure agony.  
  
    Suddenly, you heard your name being called out behind you. You turned to find the other seventeen-year-old Einstein, Hiro, skipping steps to catch up with you.   
  
    You weren't upset that he was talking to you. In fact, you had a small fondness towards him, especially the way he drove your attention from the demons in your head... sometimes.  
  
    He reached you with a few pants. "Hey!" he said, revealing the smile you thought of often.   
  
    You smiled back. "Hi!"  
  
    That's when it hit you. The part of you that wanted to keep you as far away from happiness as possible.   
  
     _God, you probably look fat right now. He's only talking to you because he wants to seem caring to that other girl who likes him. You look ugly, why don't you ever wear makeup to cover your disgusting face? I'm surprised he hasn't vomited yet. Maybe because he's gotten used to your stench over time. Is he going to point out a flaw, like your shitty personality? Or the way you instantly speak your mind without giving a fuck about what your going to say beforehand? He should, since you can't control yourself. Why don't you just go die in a hole? He wouldn't care, he'd just be happy that the annoying, lazy, rude, awful scumbag like you would be leaving his life forever. Do him a favor for once, don't just stand there and take up space..._  
      
    You stood there, listening to whatever was speaking in your head, accepting it like advice from a good friend. Still, you obviously didn't feel any better about yourself, and even wondered why Hiro would put up with you when there's a hot chick standing a hundred feet away.   
  
    "Uh, hey! Are you ok?"  
  
    You jolted back to reality, finding his face concerned.   
  
     _Idiot. You probably looked as if you were having a seizure._  
  
    "Oh, sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."   
  
    Hiro eyed you suspiciously, a slight frown dangling from his lips. "Are you sure? You looked upset in class today... actually, you've looked upset for the past few months. Is something wrong?"  
  
    Dear God, you wanted to tell him everything. How you felt so alone these days. How lately, your best friend was a knife, and your favorite thing to do was watch the blood run down your limbs. How you didn't think he cared for you one bit. Even if you could just tell him that yes, something was wrong.  
  
    But instead, those longings fired up your anger.  
  
    "Oh, so what? Now you're spying on me in class? Huh?" you lashed out involuntarily; but now that it had happened, you let it continue, not caring where the story went from there.  
  
    Hiro looked at you, eyes wide, mouth gaping, utterly shocked by your outburst. "What? No! I'm just worried-"  
  
    "Well don't be! I said I was fine!!" you turned away from him, furious, for what reason you couldn't identify.  
  
    He didn't let you get away so fast. He grabbed your wrist, making you gasp in pain. Instantly, he loosened his grip, his face now sorrowful with realization.  
  
    "Why... why are you..." he stammered.  
  
     _OH MY GOD, you're such a shithead. You just did that for attention, bitch. Now you look needy, can you honestly just go fuck off? He already hates you, don't extend his torture._  
  
    It was out now. He knew. You really fucked up this time.  
  
    You wiggled your wrist free, glaring at him with daggers in your eyes. "Please." you whispered, feeling the heat of tears. "Just leave me the  _hell_  alone."  
  
    You stormed off, face flushed with emotion, leaving Hiro confused, angry, and worried.  
  
     _He doesn't care about a duche like you._  
  
    - - -   
  
    Tears rolled off of your cheeks and onto the bed. Your parents had attended some family reunion, not bothering to question it when you refused to go. They didn't know what was 'wrong with you,' and they tried to avoid that knowledge at all costs, leaving you to fend for yourself. You didn't want them to get all mushy, hugging you and crying, saying "I understand." Because they didn't understand. They're just like everyone else in your life; trying to relate to your situation to make it somewhat focus on them as well as you. Sickening.   
  
    You shunned yourself for blowing up at Hiro. He was only trying to help, but you had figured that out  _after_ the argument. You thought he despised you now, that he wouldn't ever want to see or hear from you again.   
  
     _See how much of an idiot you are? I told you. Just go die in a hole. You'll do your parents a favor by not wasting their money on prescriptions that you don't even take. They'd be so much happier if you didn't even exist. Just the thought of you makes them wish they'd used a condom. You might even make your friends happier: one less wad of shit they have to deal with in class. You fucked up bad just by existing. And all you can do about it is fall apart and cry like an child. How utterly pathetic._  
  
    With each similar thought, the tears rolled thicker and faster. And with each tear, another thought. It was an endless, brutal cycle, but you refused to pull yourself out of the mud and into the sunlight. You somehow felt comfort in shaming yourself like this, though at the time, there was no sight of that comfort. You didn't want to be happy, and you didn't know why you were doing this to yourself. You didn't know a damn thing about anything you ever did, but all you knew was that it felt good.  
  
    For the hundredth time, your phone buzzed. You checked the bright screen, already knowing to whom the text belonged to.   
  
    From: Hiro -  _Please answer me. I don't want you to hurt yourself. Can't you tell me what's wrong?_  
  
    Once again, anger began to pile up in your head.   
  
    "Oh, sure," you said aloud. "You're probably worried  _sick._  You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you found out that a friend of yours had committed suicide; it would hurt your ego as a caring person, and you would never be found kind again." The words made you cry harder, as if you were coughing up needles. Hiro wasn't doing this for you. He only wanted to have a clear conscience.  
  
     _So pathetic. So annoying. Life isn't unfair, you're just the most horrendous creature that ruins it for everyone else._  
  
    You didn't want to think about it anymore. Glancing over at your nightstand, next to the clock and prescription bottles, you found your last resort: a crusty, blunt razor blade.   
  
    Quickly, you sat at the edge of your bed, smearing the tears on the back of your hand. You couldn't think. Everything was blurry, like small specs of dust against a bigger picture. All you wanted was to feel something, physically and emotionally. So you grabbed the blade as your body tingled with excitement.  
  
    The first one is always the best. It's the smoothest, the cleanest, the most sensational. You exhaled jaggedly at the sting, immediately feeling the wave of relief afterwards. Your entire arm was warm as the beautiful red liquid ran down to your fingertips. You continued to glide the blade in the softest parts of your wrist, memorized by each one that sent chills down your spine. There were no thoughts except for the images of the glorious blood that flowed. There were no negative voices in your head, just tranquil silence.   
  
    That was, until three, thunderous knocks pounded on the front door downstairs.  
  
    You froze. Your parents weren't supposed to be home for three more days. Fear slowly crept into your mind as you raced through images of the people who would show up at this hour.  
  
    As you were paralyzed in your thoughts, you heard the door slowly click open.  
  
     _Shithead! You left the door unlocked? Idiot!_  
  
    Your heart was beating fast. You needed to hide somewhere, make it look like you were never here. But it was obvious that someone was recently in your room - it almost looked like you murdered someone with the blood on the sheets. You panicked, frantically searching around the room to find a decent hiding spot.  
  
    "Hello?"  
  
    Your train of thought stopped. You knew that voice well enough, so much that it filled you with hatred.   
  
    "Hiro?"  
  
    You jumped off the bed and ran to the top of the steps. You didn't want him to be here; however, much to your dismay, he was standing at the bottom of the steps. You locked eyes with him for a moment. His face was weary and restless, and he was sweaty - did he run here? All the way from the Lucky Cat Cafe?  
  
    As you continued to search his face, his chocolate brown eyes trailed down your arm and to your wrist. It was then that you remembered what you had done only moments ago; you could feel the blood dripping down your fingers and onto the floor.   
  
     _What have you done._  
  
    Hiro looked back at you with pleading eyes. "Please, just talk to me." He took one step closer to you.  
  
    You backed away, afraid of what he was going to do. "Hiro, don't-"  
  
    In a flash, he began to run up the stairs. You turned on your heels and ran into the bathroom, locking the door as fast as you could. He reached the door and banged his fists loudly, jiggling the handle in an attempt to get to you. Anxiety flowed through your veins with each pound as your breathing sped up to a painful pace.  
  
    Hiro shouted your name angrily. "Open the door, now!" he cried.  
  
     _Hell no!_  
  
    "Go away!" you screamed back. You were gripping the razor blade so hard that it had cut through the palm of your hands.  
  
    Then you realized: the blade. You could slit your wrists and neck and end it here. You could carry out what your conscience had been telling you to do for the past year. You could give your parents a break, relieve your classmates from your idiocy, and even let Hiro live his life without having to worry about a fucked up psycho.   
  
    "Whatever you're doing, stop! Let me in!!" his words became less angry and more helpless as he continued to beat on the door.  
  
    It was true, though. If you would just kill yourself, he would be so much happier. He wouldn't have extra chores. The entire, goddamn world would be a brighter place without you.  
  
    You stared at the blade, now covered in dark blood. Your head began to hurt from the metallic smell, but the sight gave you a thrill. You were sweating now, and your clothes and the bathroom counter were smeared in red. You held the blade against your wrist, gathering up the courage to swipe it across and lose your soul. The sensation of being close to death wasn't comforting, like the times you wallowed in depression - it was more of a move to one's stepfather whom they were uncomfortable around.   
  
    Then, out of nowhere, your long hidden selfishness and pride rose from its hiding place. Were you willing to let Hiro go?  
  
    You froze.  _Could_ you let him go? Why was this teenager in your life so powerful over you that he could make you disbelieve yourself? Was  _he_ the one in control of your life? You wanted to rip the blade across your skin and be done with the world, but as each urge came, threatening thoughts of death without Hiro made you panic. You didn't want to do this. But you desperately and most certainly did.   
  
    As you waited for your muscles to activate, and as the last thought prevented them so, the door forcefully broke open.  
  
    Too late now.  
     
     _NO!_  
  
    Hiro didn't falter one second before he grabbed you; the blade fell from your hands as you tried to kick your way out of his grasp. Your mind was frantic, desperate to bring back the opportunity you had just lost. You cried out with frustration, pushing down on his arms around your waist; he only made things harder by tucking your arms under his.  
  
    He stumbled into the bedroom as you continued to struggle in his grasp. You were able to make him fall by pressing your heel into his stomach, and attempted to make a break for it; he grabbed your ankle and tripped you before he was able to drag you back pin you against his chest.   
          
    Your mind was frantically out of controll:  _I don't want to live. He can't do this. It isn't fair._  
  
    Hiro secured your flailing legs by tucking them against his stomach with his own.   
  
     _This shouldn't be happening._  
  
    "Get OFF me!!" you shouted, trying to wiggle yourself out of his grasp.  
  
    Hiro kept his hold on you and fought to keep you in place. "No! I'm not going to do that, idiot!"  
  
    The words pierced you like a crooked, blunt blade. You were an idiot, for every fucking little thing you've ever done. You slowly stopped trying to fight Hiro, instead, leaning your head back and crying. He didn't understand a damn thing about your life, and you knew he would want to end his own if it was as bad as this. You just wanted to  _leave_ , just to go somewhere, just to get away from everything, from everyone, from this stupid, Hell-on-Earth life.   
  
    "Please," you gasped between sobs, "please, Hiro, just let go- "  
  
    Hiro cut you off by shaking his head. "No, I can't do that." his voice was choked with desperation.   
  
    "Why- "  
  
    "Stop!"  
  
    You bit your tongue; he wouldn't even let you speak. He just rocked back and forth, holding you as if you were already dead. You noticed the blood from your wrists staining his clothes, making you realize that the recent struggle had opened the wounds even more that they already were. Waterfalls were running down your cheeks and onto the sleeve of his jacket, and even some of his own tears were dripping on your shirt.   
  
     _You idiot. Look what you've done now. To Hell with you, you're already dead to him._  
  
    The small voice in the back of your head, the words that it spoke: it didn't hurt nearly as much compared to having your ticket to death set on fire. You wanted to punch, hug, hit, open up to, and yell at Hiro all at the same time. You were never going to get another chance to fade out, not after tonight.


	2. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writing style is getting a little better... I hope...

    *** **WARNING: May trigger suicidal thoughts, actions, self harm, and/or depression. There is also a heavy amount of blood mentioned in this, so if you're a bit squeamish to that, I suggest you do NOT read this. If you believe that you can handle this, read at your own risk. I didn't mark this as mature because there are no lemons, but I wanted to let the viewer know that it is a bit dark. Also, there is a heavy amount of swearing. Thank you! *****

****

 

****

 

****Hours had gone by. Days? Or could it have only been seconds? It felt like months. But it was still dark outside, so you stuck with hours.

  
    Hiro was still holding you, arms and legs wrapping around your limbs, even though you weren't trying to struggle anymore. He was leaning against the edge of your bed; you had assumed that he had fallen asleep, since his head was leaned into the mattress. His chest slowly moved up and down, rocking you peacefully as you listened to the leisurely rhythm of his heartbeat. Every exhale that he made caressed the top of your head warmly and caused your hair to sway with each breath. 

    You, on the other hand, were still wide awake. Not only was the heat of Hiro's embrace driving you insane, but you were also replaying the horrific scene from earlier in your mind, like a broken record. You weren't angry anymore; just exhausted from the crying, the screaming, the fights. You wondered if the loss of blood had anything to do with your fatigue. There was a substantial amount of the red fluid on the floor, on your clothes and Hiro's, and in the bathroom, visible from a mile away. Your wrists were stinging from being held against his shirt for so long, and you knew that it wouldn't feel any better once you had to move.

    Carefully, and hesitantly, you pulled your arm off of his shirt; the material stuck at first, as the blood acted as an adhesive. Then it peeled itself away, tugging painfully at the slits on your skin. They began to bleed a tiny bit, and once again that stinging, burning pain that occurred once before had returned. 

    Deciding to clean yourself up, you slowly moved Hiro's limbs away from your body. He continued to sleep, undisturbed by your actions. You wondered what he was dreaming about, if he even could dream. You probably gave him nightmares after the fit you had.

    In the bathroom, you soaked a towel in warm water and began to clean the blood from your body. It had gotten onto your face, your legs, even your stomach, as far as you could tell. You stared back at your reflection in the mirror, half expecting it to grimace at your presence and walk away. A small urge flew through your mind to shatter the mirror with your fist, watching as the shards pierced your skin and made more blood flow. Maybe one would even hit a vein...

    You shook your head, clearing it of the thoughts that lured you into the dark corners of your mind. Right now, you just wanted peace - and not the distracting, crowding peace that you only received from cutting, but the quiet peace of resting. You finished wiping the blood off of your face before cleaning the towel. You hung it back on it's rod, about to leave the bathroom, when you saw it.

    The razor blade.

    The crime weapon.

    Your  _only and best friend._

It was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, where you had dropped it. The blood was still wet. The massive amount of it was satisfying; you were  _proud_  of it, that you could bleed so much, yet live. 

    The blade was still, though it cut through your mind. All of your sense suddenly moved towards your wrists, as if every ounce of blood you had in your body was redirected into them. You wanted to slice the blade across your wrist and relieve the pressure.

     _Do it now. He won't know until you're dead when he wakes up in the morning. It's the perfect moment - it'd be better for him anyways. Look at the mess you've made, the trouble you made him go through. He walked all the way from the Lucky Cat Cafe in the cold and rain just to check on your irresponsible ass. You could have just returned his texts, saving him a trip and you a demented night. So go ahead and end it now, before you cause any more damage._

It was tempting. The words in your mind made every bit of sense to you. It was  _true_. Your fingers buzzed excitedly, though the excitement was more demanding than intriguing. You reached your hand out towards it, but your will refused to let you bend down and pick it up. There was something there, something that was never present in the other times you had cut. It wasn't Hiro, and it wasn't fear... you couldn't recognize it, but it had a strong hold on your mind.

    You gave up, letting your hand fall to your side. As you disconnected your focus from cutting, your mind was able to think of other things; ranging from simple images of color, to paragraphs from books you had read, to how someone would feel if you were to kill yourself. You were thinking of  _everything_  - thoughts of cutting yourself had taken up your entire mind, keeping you from realizing anything else. It wasn't that you were suddenly appreciating all the little things in life, just that you were acknowledging them. 

    But now, you didn't want to think of all these things. Normally, sliding the razor blade across your wrists would fix this problem, but you decided to replace that method and go to bed. 

    You shuffled back into your bedroom, languor suddenly washing over you. You changed into loose pajama bottoms and a tank, ignoring Hiro as he snored quietly. Being trapped under his arms for so long made you uncomfortably warm, so you threw open a window, watching as the curtains flounced in the breeze. The cool air engulfed you, the wind swishing past your ears with a whispering sigh. You inhaled deeply and closed your eyes as you let the city air carry your senses away.

    Looking back at Hiro, you noticed his crumpled position; he couldn't have possibly been comfortable. You laid a pillow down on the floor before slowly guiding his head to it. He followed, mumbling nonsense in his subconscious. You then tossed an extra blanket over him, even though the room was stuffy and humid. You saw the smears of blood on his hands and face -  _your_  blood. Not wanting to wake him up, you left the grime on his face, knowing he would probably wash it off later that day. 

    Finally, you climbed into bed, choosing to take the side farthest from Hiro. You were extremely fatigued, but not in the usual way; most nights, you would go to sleep when your eyes were so dry, that you couldn't open them. Or when you were bored, or you didn't want to do anything but lie still. Now, your muscles ached, and your mind was full but ready to rest. You sighed, pulling the covers over your head, now surrounded by darkness. You waited for the degrading commentary of the day, provided by the voice in your head. 

    But, for the first time in your life, it was quiet. 

      


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
      
    It was one in the afternoon. The red numbers glared at you from your bedside clock, taunting you with words such as  _lazy_ , or  _useless._  You couldn't even remember when you had opened your eyes; you weren't even fully awake, and the voice in your head was fully operational, screaming and shouting and criticizing you before you had even rose out of bed. 

    It was pathetic. You knew it. The voice knew it. Did Hiro know it?

    Suddenly, your eyes widened with realization. Hiro. 

    You had completely forgotten about him. You crawled across the bed to where he had been laying hours before, only to find a blanked folded on top of a pillow. His shoes were placed by them, along with the grey jacket he had been wearing the night before. You glanced around the room, just to make sure you hadn't looked over him, but he was gone. Did he go home?

    You quickly scrambled out of bed, pulling a loose cardigan over your tank top and shorts. As you made your way down the stairs, you silently prayed that he was gone. Though, is that what you wanted? Guaranteed, you would feel irritated if you had walked into your living room to find that he had settled himself in - but you felt a need to explain yourself, even if you did so falsely, since he had caught you cutting yourself. 

    Upon entering the kitchen, you found it empty. You could tell he hadn't eaten anything since there were no dishes in the sink or on the stove. It was oddly quiet, and you half expected to hear footsteps somewhere else in the room, indicating that he was still there. But everything was silent, giving you a much needed relief. Or did it?

    You sighed.  _What the hell is wrong with me..._

 __"Hey."

    You jumped, turning to find Hiro sitting tensely on the couch in the living room. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before, save the jacket and shoes. His eyes cast a worried look to you - it seemed as though he was fighting with himself to avoid staring at your arms.

    "Hi..." you responded weakly. You weren't sure if you were comfortable, finding him just sitting there alone. "Did you eat something?"

    "Not hungry." he answered, his eyes now moving to stare at the floor.

    You slowly made your way over to the couch opposite of Hiro, sitting in front of him. He looked traumatized, whether from having blood all over him or seeing it drip from your arm - you wish you knew. 

    "How did you sleep?" he asked nervously.

    You turned to meet his gaze, before rubbing one arm anxiously. "Uh... fine. It was kind of warm in there, actually."

    He nodded, unsure of how to respond. The conversation slowly began to drift into silence until you spoke again.

    "How about you, did - were you alright?" You faltered when your eyes landed on the bloody spots on his shirt. His skin was clean, but his clothes still held evidence of the previous night's bloodbath. 

    "Yeah, I was fine." he answered. "And thanks for the blanket, by the way."

    "Oh, you're welcome." you said; you had forgotten about most of the night post-fight. There were only a few things swarming in your head, and one of them was: why didn't Hiro call the cops? Or and ambulance, or something? Why did he think, and how did he  _know_ , that he would be able to stop you himself? Had it not crossed his mind that you might have already been dead? Or what if he was completely wrong about your wounds? He had never actually seen them before the previous night. You squeezed your eyes shut, clearing your head from all of the questions. You didn't want any more than you already had.

    Hiro leaned forward on the couch, resting his chin on folded fingers. "You should probably put bandages over those." He said, looking at your scars.

    You looked at them as well, and sure enough, they weren't quite closed. The larger ones were still wet and angry; you just now noticed the slight burning sensation spreading from that point on your arm.

     _God..._  you thought,  _How did this not kill me?_

    You turned the attention away from your arms. "... and you should probably change. You can't go home like... that." You pointed at one of the blood stains on his shirt. 

    He glanced at down at his clothes, then quickly back at you. "Yeah, Aunt Cass would probably die if she saw me like this. But I called her and said that I'd be at a friends house for a few days."

    You faltered. "You're staying?"

    Hiro nodded, slightly wary of your reaction.

     _Ugh._ The voice in your head returned, commentating on the situation.  _Good luck getting him off of your back..._

 _You're a part of me, you should be helping me with this shit!_ you replied to it angrily. 

     _Nope, you're on your own here. It's your life, I'm just here to watch it fall apart._

You turned your attention back to the present. "How long are you going to be here?" you said, trying not to sound annoyed.

    Hiro shrugged. "I mean... for as long as I need to, I guess."

     _'For as long as I need to'?!_ You imagined whoever the voice belonged to, sitting on a couch, eating popcorn, watching your life through a shitty television screen as if it were some cheap-thrill drama.  _Oohh, this is getting good! He's actually_ imposing  _himself on you! Who knew Hiro could be so ignorant of your feelings and just decide to live with you? I can't wait to see how long it takes for you to break under him._

You ignored the voice - or, you  _tried,_  at least - and stared at your chipped fingernails, instead.

    The two of you sat in silence for a while, staring awkwardly at random objects in the room. You were dreading the next questions Hiro would ask, the next moments of interrogation. You didn't assume, you  _knew_ , he was going to ask you multiple questions. That's how it always was: someone confronts you about the scars climbing up your arms, and they ask you more than enough questions about it. You - not purposely - had recorded answers in your head for each one, making them look sincere by adding emotion to your words.

   Hiro's voice broke you from your thoughts: "Why do you do it?" he asked shyly.

     _Here we go..._

You turned to face him, putting on your masked emotion of confusion. "Do what?" you said, innocently-but-realistically.

    "You know..." he faltered, obviously too uncomfortable with the aspect of self harm to answer you.

    "Slit my wrists?" you filled in the words for him, purposefully using a harsh phrase to make him even more uneasy; it worked, as he simply nodded in response, and his face reflected the tension he was feeling.

    You sighed, pretending to feel doubtful if you should open up to Hiro. "I'm... not exactly sure, that... I want to talk about it. It's a stupid reason... " you said, wringing your hands.  _Maybe I can just avoid this conversation altogether if I can get him to feel bad for me._

    Hiro scooted closer towards you, now leaning off the edge of the couch. "I mean... it can't be  _that_  stupid, if it makes you so depressed. And... you can tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone else."

     _Ugh,_ you thought,  _now I have to make up some crap story for him..._

You paused, adding effect to the 'hesitant' attitude. "I cut myself because... because of my parents." You bit your lip after that sentence, making you seem nervous.

    "Why?" Hiro asked. "Did they abuse you, or- "

    "No, they didn't abuse me." you quickly derailed his assumptions.  _Maybe bringing my parents into this was a bad idea._  "It's just that... they were never there. At all. As a kid, I was just a creation of theirs used to get praise from others. But as I got older, they lost interest in me. I went from a trophy in their hands to a trophy on the shelf. I did that typical 'get-straight-A's-and-be-a-good-kid-to-please-your-parents' thing, but they still treated me like I was an alien. Ever since I was around thirteen years old, they've just stopped caring about my well being. So I coped... by distracting myself from the need to have...  _better_ parents."

    There was a long pause, as you went over everything you said. There was no absence of emotion in your words, and it seemed believable enough; even though it wasn't the reason for your self harm, it was all the truth. In fact, it was only the tip of the iceberg. 

    "So..." Hiro began, capturing your attention. "You cut yourself... because of your parents?"

    You sighed, trying to express as much self-loathe as you could. "I told you, it was stupid. And it's selfish because I need so much attention from them. I'm seventeen! I should be doing my own thing, not chasing after my parent's praise!"

    "Well, I can see why you would." he continued. "You didn't get any encouragement, especially when you needed the most. Thirteen is that age where you need help shaping yourself into who you want to be, whether you get that help from friends or family. So that might explain the need for praise, and even the depression, too." he was now barely on the edge of his seat; he seemed as if he were trying to nail the words into your head, in case you wouldn't believe him.

    You mentally laughed.  _If only you knew, then you might just give up on me altogether._

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. I'll be going to college soon, and I won't be getting anything from them after that."

    He chewed on his bottom lip, searching through his mind for the right words. "You could talk to someone else about this. About your parents, about the depression, everything."

    You dropped your facade, now truly expressing shock. "You want me to see a  _shrink_?"

    "Well..." he shrugged, "you make it sound worse when you put it that way, you make it seem awful. But really, it wouldn't hurt just to have one session with someone."

    "Hiro," you sighed, "I'm past the point of help; a therapist would only make it worse."

    He fidgeted his fingers. "It's never too late to try."

    "Ugh..." you stood up from your seat, making your way to the stairs. "You sound like you're reciting something from an infomercial."

    Hiro was quick to follow at your heels. "I'm just giving suggestions. I don't want you to give up on yourself, there's still time to turn around and get help."

    You ignored him, grabbing your laptop off of the coffee table and continuing to march towards the stairs. You were angry at Hiro; angry that he was so persistent, angry that he was following you... it made you feel suffocated. Most of the people who insisted on helping you with your depression would be satisfied after hearing the fake backstory, along with a small promise to stop cutting. But Hiro... he was going to be hard to shake off. Hell, he even invited himself to stay at your house for the next few days! 

    Before you could go upstairs, Hiro grabbed the sleeve of your cardigan. You turned to face him, and angry expression about your features. 

    "Just promise me that you'll talk to someone at least once?" his eyes were frantic and pleading.

    You stared back at him, searching through the many untruthful masks you had. You chose the simple 'Shy' expression, giving Hiro a soft and sad smile.

    "I'll try." you said quietly.

    He smiled, releasing your hand. 

    You quickly turned away from him. You had done this a million times, made a million promises that you would never keep. but for some reason, you couldn't look Hiro in the eyes after you lied to him. You rushed up the stairs, frantically trying to get as far away as possible from the entire situation. You needed to do  _something_  to get the matter off of your mind.

    But, much to your disappointment, that something wouldn't be cutting yourself.


End file.
